


Midnight Snack

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Peanut Butter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1343173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knows better than to investigate when he hears a late-night noise in the flat, but what he discovers makes getting out of bed worthwhile...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Snack

John had learned to ignore the various noises in the flat that erupted in the insanely-early hours of the morning, but this one grabbed his interest for once.  It sounded like the flat was being ransacked, which was not an unlikely possibility given their lifestyle, so he carefully got out of bed, and quietly moved towards the sitting room, firearm at the ready.  Fortunately, the only person ransacking the flat was Sherlock and John simply watched until the detective pulled something out from what must have been a hollow underneath John’s chair and released a very uncharacteristic shriek of victory.

      “Sherlock!  What in the world are you doing?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Really?  So what’s the nothing you’re trying to hide behind your back?”

      “Nothing.  Go to bed.”

      “As if that’s possible now, with my own little puzzle to solve.  Show me and spare us both the effort of me trying to pry this out of you.”

      “You have insufficient vigor to pry anything out of me, so avoid the humiliation and return to bed.  Immediately.”

      “I will have you on the floor and whatever that is in my hands in ten seconds.  Soldier, remember?”

      “A soldier who has maintained a sedentary, tea-and-biscuit-plumped life since his discharge.”

      “Yeah, that’s me.  No charging around London after His Dark Highness on a regular basis.”

      “Sporadic exercise has not been shown to have any appreciable fitness benefits, as you should well know.  I believe your patients would like information on how little their so-called doctor knows about the so-called heath profession.”

      “Stop changing the subject and let me see what you’re hiding.”

      “No.”

      “You’re not four.  Show me.”

      “I think not.”

      “I think so.  Sherlock… look, if it’s drugs…”

      “A little credit, John.  I would not indulge if you could possibly be witness to the event.”

      “Good to know that I can’t ever leave your side again, but I’m actually getting worried now, so just let me see and then it’ll all be over and I can actually get some sleep.”

      “I don’t find that acceptable.”

      “SHOW ME!”

      “You are agitated.  Perhaps you should consider meditation as a means to reduce your stress.”

      “I’ll consider a bullet to reduce my stress and I don’t think Mycroft will do anything but applaud when he sees the surveillance footage.”

      “That does remind me to do this week’s sweep for cameras.”

As Sherlock cut his eyes around to survey the flat, John pounced and had one highly irate Holmes brother pinned tightly on the floor, though wrenching the mystery item from the man’s grip proved challenging.  However, Watson men never backed away from a challenge and a quick elbow wriggle into Sherlock’s ribs gained him his prize.

      “You’ve got to be kidding.”

      “Yes, that is something I am quite likely to do given the natural frivolity of my personality.

      “It’s a jar of peanut butter.”

      “Well done, you must have taken all of the prizes at school.”

      “It’s a jar of crap peanut butter.”

      “And they say _I_ have a tendency to show off my observational skills.”

      “Ok, I know I said I’d go to bed, but no… what in the world are you doing with a jar of crap peanut butter?  Especially one you’ve got hidden under my chair.”

      “Nothing.”

      “Oh god, not this again.  Look, just tell me.  I really don’t care if it’s for an experiment or some sexual fetish you act out when I’m asleep, I just have to know.”

      “I use it for its intended purpose.”

      “You eat it?”

      “No, I use it to wash my hair, really John, if you are going to be a complete idiot…”

      “Sorry… really, sorry.  I just mean… first, it’s peanut butter.  Then, it’s you eating.  Lastly, it’s _you_ eating _peanut butter_.  That’s three things to swallow at once and it’s not going down easily.”

      “That is not my concern, so if you find yourself expiring due to suffocation, kindly do it elsewhere.”

      “Peanut butter!  This is surreal.  And… wait a minute… we don’t have any bread in the flat right now.  You used the last few bits to test whether bread was actually a good filter for heavy metals in tap water.”

Sherlock, wiggled one arm, which John freed and reached into the pocket of his dressing gown to pull out a spoon.

      “No… you, Sherlock bloody Holmes sits here at night eating peanut butter with a spoon?”

      “Sitting is rarely involved.”

      “Ok, standing and eating peanut butter with a spoon.”

      “It is expedient.”

      “A spoon!”

      “Are you attempting an invocation?  I do not believe there is a religion or cult anywhere that currently recognizes either the god of or demon of spoons.”

      “Peanut butter and a spoon.  Why?  Why in the world when I can’t get you to eat anything…”

      “You attempt to force me consume items with low-nutritional density, requiring large outlays of energy towards digestion, which is energy not used for more important matters.”

      “So, a spoonful of peanut butter beats toast and jam?”

      “The comparison is not even worth making.”

      “Ok… but there are other, better options for nutritional supplements, if that’s what you’re going for and I’d be happy to talk to…

      “I am not interested in wasting what energy I must expend towards maintaining my transport with insipid powders or dribbly protein beverages.”

      “Sherlock… oh, I get it.  _Now_ I get it.   You don’t care about nutrition.  You, the World’s Only Consulting Detective _likes_ peanut butter.”

      “I have given my reason…”

      “And it’s a rubbish reason so I’m forgetting you even said anything.  You like peanut butter… all oily, nutty, gummy bit of it.”

      “It is not entirely unpalatable.”

      “You like it so much you eat it plain.  That’s it, isn’t it?  Why spoil all that peanutty goodness with stupid old bread?”

      “Bread is not entirely unacceptable, we simply have no bread.”

      “Jam?”

      “No.”

      “Ummm…. bananas?”

      “What?”

      “Americans do that sometimes.  Also, heard some lads talking about a marshmallow goo they smear on instead of jam.”

      “Well, if it’s American, it must be perverted and obesity-inducing.”

      “Any of those lads could have broken you in two and run the pieces 10 miles back to camp without breaking a sweat.”

      “ _Marshmallow goo_?”

      “Ok, I’ll grant you the perverted part.  But Sherlock… why hide it?  Frankly, I’m not comfortable with the idea that I’ve been sitting on your secret peanut butter stash all this time.”

      “Only for a day or so.  I move the location frequently.”

      “And you forgot where you put it tonight, didn’t you.”

      “My memory is flawless.  I was simply checking the former locations in which I had placed it for… other things.”

      “Pitiful, simply pitiful.  Again, why hide it at all?”

      “To forestall a conversation exactly like this one.”

      “There’s nothing wrong with having a little something you like.  Everyone does.  So, we’ll put this in the kitchen and you can eat it proudly.”

      “How does pride and food consumption even possibly link together?”

      “Maybe there’s a Pro-Peanut Butter Coalition out there somewhere and they need your support.”

      “You are overly tired.”

      “Since I moved in with you, yeah.  And now, I think I’ll do something about that.”

John let Sherlock up off of the floor, took the spoon and helped himself to a spoonful of Sherlock’s guilty pleasure and thought it tasted exactly as he remembered.  But… there was something else he remembered, too…

      “Goodnight, Sherlock.  Enjoy your… whatever you do when I’m wasting my valuable time with pointless sleep.”

      “If you were not being sarcastic, I would commend your self-realization.”

__________

Sherlock returned from the morgue and was not surprised that John had again decided that his presence at that plague-infested clinic was necessary.  He simply refused to understand that there were numerous others with absolutely nothing else of importance to do with their lives but wipe runny noses and apply plasters who could do his job and leave him entirely free for the work.  Now, Sherlock would have to wait until John returned home to discuss the case, because John had forbidden him from texting unless blood was involved.  _His_ blood and they had negotiated the quantity that served as the tipping point for permitting at-work contact.

A quick scurry around gathered the supplies for the latest experiment on his research calendar and there was just enough sheep intestine left for useful results.  As Sherlock cleared away from the table of the remnants of his last experiment, he saw a garish slash of orange lying amidst his equipment.  A small note lay next to it.

_Thank you for your membership.  The Pro-Peanut Butter Coalition of Great Britain._

John.  He did enjoy spreading his variety of sense of humor as far as he was able, which Sherlock would never admit pleased him in a strange and unfathomable way.  The detective picked up the orange package and stared at both the lettering and the image on the front before slowly opening the end and catching a large whiff of a combination of cheap chocolate, cheap peanut butter and extra sugar, which in no manner, made his tongue peek out and lick his lips.  Looking around to make sure that no one, friend or foe, was present to observe and thankful he had performed the camera sweep after John had returned to bed, Sherlock lifted one of the tart-like morsels to his mouth and took a small bite.  Then a larger bite.  Then the rest disappeared into his mouth where it melted together into a near-orgasmic mass of indescribable decadence.  And there was another one waiting for him after his recovery period.

_Return home.  We must go shopping – SH_

_Can’t.  Work = money – JW_

_Mycroft’s card = money.  Come home – SH_

_Why?  We have rules for this – JW_

_New rule.  You must come home for shopping – SH_

_Newer rule.  You’re loony.   Go yourself – JW_

_Newest rule.  I don’t know where to buy the orange packages so you must come home – SH_

_They’re American.  Sure you can handle the perversion? – JW_

_I am made of stern stuff – SH_

_And peanut butter – JW_

_Holds together the stern stuff– SH_

_Alright, be home soon.  Love you – JW_

_And I you.  Even more now than before – SH_


End file.
